Bob Eastley: My Fair Lady

Bob-EastleyUh oh.  It’s that time of year again.

The fair is coming to town.

I think I may have to leave for Colorado or Timbuktu or possibly the U.P.  Don’t get me wrong.  I actually enjoy some aspects of the fair.  Most of them involve eating.  We’re talking caramel apples and elephant ears and a big barbecued chicken extravaganza (I like that word) put on by the Rotary.  Those guys rock.

I also rather enjoy people watching.  Just pull up a seat, and you’ll see individuals at the fair that never surface at any other time of the year.  Some should be on Dr. Phil.  I have no idea where they come from, but there is a veritable festival of body art and hairdos and wardrobes adorning the midway. 

I even like some of the games, like shooting air rifles or throwing darts at balloons or trying to drop a ring over a bottleneck to win a prize.  So, in my case, I drop not only a few rings but enough cash to pay for a lobster dinner, just to win a two-dollar stuffed bear, but so what? 

Finally, you have to love all the animals.  There’s harness racing, with one race reserved for local “celebrities.”  What a blast.  For most, it’s their first (and only) time.  Remember the first time you tried to drive a car with a stick shift? Yeah, it’s like that.

There are also plenty of animal exhibits, and  a lot of young people who have spent hours and hours primping and grooming (the animals, not themselves), just for the chance to win a blue ribbon and be recognized for all their hard work.

That brings us to the reason that I may have to skip town.  Yes, it’s the (shudder) rides.  Apparently, some people (like my wife, a.k.a. My Fair Lady) have the constitutions to go ‘round and ‘round and up and down while simultaneously spinning.  These people should be astronauts.  No, really.  They drive long distances to places like Cedar Point and stand in line for hours, just to enjoy diabolical devices designed to fall farther and spin faster.  It staggers the imagination.

I, on the other hand, see no point in volunteering for a mission that results in flu-like symptoms. You’ve probably heard of PTSD, a terrible disorder that affects many combat veterans.  Well, I have PCBD, otherwise known as Projectile Centrifugal Barf Disorder.  In layman’s terms, this means that if I get on a Tilt-a-Whirl shortly after eating a chili dog and one of those delicious elephant ears, I’ll soon be sharing it with innocent bystanders standing in the vicinity of the evil contraption.  This is not the sort of rain you want on your parade.

So, maybe I’ll skip the trip to Timbuktu and take another chance on the fair.  But to all you psycho ride lovers that enjoy tormenting your wimpy counterparts: The answer is NO.  In other words, NO.  Don’t try to talk me into something that rearranges my internal organs or has more G-force than a dive-bomber.  If you’re looking for me, I’ll be sitting in the shade and enjoying the barbecued chicken.

Contact Bob Eastley at

Leave a Reply